Too Late
by Yami-no-Oujo
Summary: Alternate return Post-Reichenbach. Rated T for mention of suicide.


**A/N: This is my first time writing a Sherlock fic and I tried, I swear. It's and alternate-post-Reichenbach you know alt return. It's pretty short and kinda lame but I wanted something bittersweet and I think that's what I got but I suppose that's up to you dearies to decide. **

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Sherlock decided he was tired of being "dead". The first thing he did, with some help (mostly Mycroft), was find John. It wasn't the simplest or most satisfying task. The only place he could see him was at a large event, a circumstance he could only possibly endure for John. He disguised himself among the musicians, because, considering the fact that he's "dead" and he's Sherlock, he thought it best to not waltz in uninvited.

He followed along, more skillfully than the rest and even adding his own original twinges here and there as if he were refurbishing the song in his own **hey-nice-job-kids-let-me-make-you're-talent-seem-worthless-because-I'm-Sherlock-fucking-Holmes** style as always. The other parts here and there started to sound like a song he'd been working on, but he'd never finished it. Like he was playing just so John could hear. After everyone had finished gathering and speaking to and about John they started to leave and say their goodbyes, leaving John by himself in the middle of the quaint room, _finally_, Sherlock muttered in his head as he packed away his sacred violin and trotted off the stage, securing his scarf around his high collar. He strode over to his ex-partner/assistant/flatmate…and friend. He knew John was probably upset with him; he knew he couldn't look at him or speak to him. He knew that he'd never come back to 221B with him or solve crimes with him. But he had to see him regardless. He wasn't even entirely sure why.

_John. _He called out in his normal, flat tone; free of emotion. He hoped. He came closer and John didn't even twitch. _John. I'm sorry. _Sherlock wasn't even entirely sure if it came from his mind or his mouth but he continued, expecting no response. _I'm…not dead…I just hope you know I did what I had to do. I couldn't see you die John. _He scoffed a bit. _I heard you John…I didn't break my promise. I didn't want to hurt you. I was just late. _He heard a strange, somewhat high-pitched scratching sound and looked back. Seeing and sensing no one around, he turned back, staring John in the face. He swallowed. He couldn't hug him in this position, and though he wasn't one for physical displays of affection, his **first**, **best**, and **only** friend deserved one. _I'm sorry I was so late, John. I was trying to save you. _He heard the noise again as he leaned down and kissed John on the head, and realized that it was his own voice, which he hadn't heard crack like that since he'd given John his 'note'. He was even more shocked though to feel a chill on his cheek and an awkward plopping from off his chin and looked down to see a small salt water droplet making its way into the fabric make up of John's suit. _I'm crying... No I'm not crying. _He felt his other cheek exhibiting the same type of receptive nerves and knitted his brow tight. He could imagine John smirking at his sudden burst of human emotion. _I'm crying…? _He realized he'd been subconsciously eyeing the obvious scar where they'd repaired John's skull after his friend apparently blew his brains out (as he was unfortunately informed) and he clenched the hands rested gently on his chest. He leaned into the coffin and pressed his forehead against John's, sighing and wiping away the foul tears. _I'm sorry John. I was too late…I didn't save you. _

He stood up straight and cleared his throat. He looked down at John and heaved a pained sigh, looking up to the corridor quickly as he heard footsteps. He made one last gesture of friendship, and of love before rushing through the back door as the funeral director came in, thinking he'd seen a shadow. Before he closed the coffin he noticed something a bit out of place: an indigo-blue scarf tied snugly around the late doctor's neck.

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**A/N: Okay this is entirely based off a tumblr post by whom I forgot the name of. I believe ithe post itself was**

**[Imagine Sherlock kissing John on the forehead. **

**Now Imagine John lying in a coffin] or something along the lines. It's not great so I'm sorry if I dissapoint, but I did want to do something cute + angsty.**

**I hope you enjoyed ^u^ **


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